Thursday, 30 October 2014

When the ex-wife of the king-to-be diedin that car crash in Paris –that’s when Tony Blair fucked up.That speech about the ‘People’s Princess’seemed great at the time –the whole country backing a Labour Prime Minister,but then he went and advised Her Majestyto get back to London pdq and join inthe widespread looking sad.He thought he was showing leadership,being patriotic; what he should have donewas let her continue her holiday in Balmoral,stay away, let us all manage without her.Then he could have announced:I won’t be having tea with her no more.I won’t be visiting the Palace.If she has anything she wants to say to me,she can write in, just like Citizen Spart,and my Officials will send an acknowledgment, as they do.Hanging round palaces doesn’t dofor Labour Prime Ministers, it sucks them in.Ed Milliband should make it clearhe won’t be having tea in the Palace.Richard Devereux

Melinda Rizzo is a freelance writer and reporter, living in rural Bucks County, USA. She shares a nearly 200-year-oldfarmhouse with husband Phil, their son Adam and a black Labrador named Caleb.The large kitchen - centrally located on the first floor - is the heart and soul of their home.

Monday, 27 October 2014

As I queue for my flu shot,I think about Ebola,about international flight bansand thermal guns to screen for fever.

I think of thirteen-year-old Bintufrightened by every siren,watching neighbours’ children die,mattresses and bedding set on fire,the dry-throated hunger of quarantine,strangers trying to spray the virusout of homes in Kailahun and Kenema.

I think of the pet trapped in the Dallas apartmentof a healthcare worker now in isolation.

I offer up my arm to the nurse –here, a vaccination line moves fast.Still, there’s no immunity to fear,to Ebola or another deadly virus spreading.

The syringe’s silver slips through skin to flesheasier than sunlight through glass,and every bit as glinting.But I know that this is nothingto the ease with which a virus passesfrom sneeze to hand, hand to another’s sleeve, cheek, mouth…

There are things that we cannot stop,but that shouldn’t stop us from trying.And while we’re trying, not forgettingthat every sliver of lightoff a window, off a knife edge,in the running of tap wateris a slice of life that is silver, so very silver:each new day a piece of luckthat glitters in our fingers.

Sarah James's most recent collection is Be[yond] from Knives, Forks and Spoons Press. Next year she has a narrative in poems, The Magnetic Diaries, out with KFS and, plenty-fish, with Nine Arches Press. She has a poem, 'That Night', animated in this year's Blackpool Illuminations. Her website is at www.sarah-james.co.uk.

On Wednesday we published Melinda Rizzo's "October Pumpkins" which is a very evocative poem about the seasons and pumpkins overlayed with the thought of a pumpkin festival that got out of hand. The names of the pumpkins seem to come from the past.

Pumpkins are hauled in from local farmers:

‘Buck’s Skin,’ ‘Jack-be-Little’and ‘Cinderella’s Coach.’

Holly Magill's poem "Tonight I'm Washing My Hair"was Thursday's poem which looked at the pronouncements of a British Lord that some disabled people are not worth paying full wages to. The point is well made here that loss of wages to anyone causes hardship.

that shampoo was on offer, better value

– I’d prefer a more expensive brand,

the same as everyone else.

Now the £2 coin in my pocket

may need to stretch so much further.

Janine Booth gave her view on the same incident on Friday in "Freudian Slip"which looked at the attitudes behind the statement.No, he wasn't just acting the jerk asThough he'd just come down in a shower

He was voicing his deep-seated feeling

Have a good week everyone, keep sending in your poems. Please give some thought to being a Poetry24 editor next year. Abi and I will be moving on but we will give full training.Contact us by submissions email.

Friday, 24 October 2014

When he answered that councillor's questionHe let out a Freudian slipWhen he argued for wages exemptionIt wasn't a gaffe or a blipWhen his Lordship said disabled workersShould get by on two quid an hourNo, he wasn't just acting the jerk asThough he'd just come down in a shower

He was voicing his deep-seated feelingAnd saying what most Tories thinkAnd his innermost bigot revealing -A slip named for Sigmund the shrinkNow the trouble he's in - give him credit -Is not for the vile thing he saidBut merely the fact that he said itAnd didn't stay tight-lipped instead

Cos the party that's not above shuttingThe life-saving fund, ILF,And doesn't think twice about cuttingBack Access to Work for the deafWill not likely have moral objectionTo cutting our wages next JuneAnd Lord Freud - he just needed correctionFor letting it slip out too soon

Holly Magill is from Worcestershire. She has a BA in Creative Writing from The University of Birmingham and has had work in “Ink, Sweat & Tears”, “The Poetry Bus” and “The Stare’s Nest”. She is visually impaired.

Melinda Rizzo is a freelance writer and reporter, living in rural Bucks County, USA. She shares a nearly 200-year-old farmhouse with husband Phil, their son Adam and a black Labrador named Caleb.The large kitchen - centrally located on the first floor - is the heart and soul of their home.

Sunday, 19 October 2014

This week our Monday poem was the work of a new contributor, Rebecca Gethin, whose poem 'Entrapment' open with the striking image of 'Tanks squat in the sand/ on the desert ridge/ immobile' which, for me, brought to mind a picture of tanks occupying the horizon like so many ponderous and glittering jewelled toads. Welcome, Rebecca, and thank you for choosing Poetry24. Then, on Tuesday, it was the turn of Mandy Macdonald whose 'Thoughts in the bar at Richard Struass's Salome' was inspired by the satisfaction shown by Nigel Farage following the election of UKIP's first - and, hopefully, last - MP. I think that this poem probably expressed the thoughts of many of our readers. It is, I should say, a particular source of embarrassment to me that my home town of Grays in Thurrock is one of the areas where UKIP looks menacing. I use the word 'menacing' advisedly.

Wednesday's offering was 'The First Artists' from regular contributor, Sue Norton. This is a beautiful poem written in response to a story about the discovery of some of the earliest cave paintings known. Wonderful, wonderful closing lines:'Their beauty beckons, only revealingour hands match theirs. We are their legacy.'

On Thursday, it was my own 'One Percent' which was a somewhat hot-headed response to three of the stories I found on my Facebook news feed that morning, When I showed this poem to my partner, David, he said: 'It's a bit angry and bitter, dear.' Well, yes, that about covers it. Guilty as charged.

Our final poem of the week was 'Peace Prize' by Dr Fareha Razvi which is a tribute to the strength and courage of Malala Yousafzai, a worthy winner of the Nobel Peace Prize. It was good to have a positive end to the week. Our thanks go to all our contributors. Abigail Wyatt

Friday, 17 October 2014

A gunshot that failed to Slay,endowed her the Strength and Courage;to fly high with unclipped wings.Stand tall for the rights,become voice of silent slaves,Detained and Deprived;No Education No Freedom.Resonating message of Peace and Liberty.Defending not only young girlsbut children of whole world.Unintimidated, she strives to conquer the rivals of Humanity.With Simplicity and fervent Dedication,her endeavours to alleviate disparityand foster a safe tomorrow for younger generations continues!

Wednesday, 15 October 2014

Ghostly in the dark like white five-petalled flowers, little suns glowing against red clouds of powdered paint; carefully stencilled human hands pressed against unyielding rockinside the cave. For forty thousand years this skilful painting has lasted. And now we see images by the pioneers of human abstraction. Hands. Pig deer. How we long to know what they are signalling. New dating means we’re sure that what we seecame out of Africa. What’s their meaning? Are they marks of arcane ceremony? Their beauty beckons, only revealingour hands match theirs. We are their legacy.

Monday, 13 October 2014

Tanks squat in the sandon the desert ridge.Immobile. Refugeesare lorried awayfrom the border.No fightersare permitted to crossthe line on the mapto help lift the siege.Who is doing the besieging?Rebecca Gethin

Sunday, 12 October 2014

Monday's poem was "Absense of Remorse" by Lesley Quayle which looks at the horrendous process of a sexual abuse trial where the victim is " skinned and shredded." It is a heart wrenching poem which is made more horrifying by the realisation of how widespread this sort of predatory behaviour is.

Nicolette Foremen's poem "The Taiji Dolphins" which presents the Taiji dolphin slaughter as the crime against nature that it is. The poem also contrasts the normal silence of nature with the eerie silence left behind the killing.Away from the deafening pounding,Away from the crimson waters

Thursday's poem was "Face of the Earth" by Heather H. Thomas. Heather explores the thought processes we all go through when the news of the murders posted on line by ISIS in Iraq. The poem raises alot of issues about what is happening there, I think the major one being how we are reaping a bit of what we sowed.

Our weapons their weapons looted from Iraqi army

after we think they have WMD and bomb,

and their dictator hides in a hole.

Clare Hepworth-Wain's poem "And All Your Money... "was Friday's poemand looked at the issue of building a nuclear power station. The poem points out how the inhabitants of the area may be left as the attention of the world moves off.cannot buy hope for those existing in cardboard rooms,

left to chew iodine and scarf their children’s swollen necks...

Now, a repeat call for people to take over the editorships from Abi and I for next year. It is not hard work and is somewhere in the region of 1-2 hours a week, at the very most. Please give it some thought. It is a great honour to be in receipt of such fine poems and be able to publish them.